French Frenzies
by londongrammar
Summary: 'With their berets, onion wreaths and ghastly accents, the French were what scared Death Eaters the most. In their nightmares they would take them for bike rides and make them eat escargot.' My first parody, written for the Phobias challenge.


French Frenzies

**Disclaimer:** I am not J.K. Rowling, therefore all I own is the plot.

Please note that this is a parody and therefore _not_ meant to be taken seriously, I don't mean to offend anyone when I use French stereotypes.

Francophobia – Fear of France and French culture

* * *

To the Death Eaters, they were even more terrifying than their Master. The very thought of these people made them want to scream and sob. They were worse than death itself. Even Bellatrix Lestrange, their ringleader and most fearsome of all was reduced to a pile of jelly when she came across one of… _them_.

With their berets, onion wreaths and ghastly accents, the French were what scared Death Eaters the most. They would creep into their dreams and take them for bike rides, stopping at cafés making them eat frogs legs and escargot. It made the skin on the back of their necks prickle, sending shivers up their spines.

When Voldemort needed one of his subjects to attend to business in France, the terrified Death Eaters would select a name out of the hat. The victim would cry and scream, but their fate was sealed.

The last person to go to France, Antonin Dolohov had failed his mission and was heard gibbering about the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe. Everyone avoided him as much as possible, Merlin only knew what had truly happened to him.

Once Rodolphus Lestrange had tried to talk to him alone, but when he came out of Dolohov's room, he was pale-faced and quiet. No one dared to ask what had happened.

That day, Voldemort called his followers to an urgent meeting.

"As you all know," he sneered "Dolohov has failed my simple task of getting the French to help us in our cause. So, I myself shall choose another, more worthy to assist me in such an honour." he stared pointedly at Dolohov as he said this, whilst the man himself simply stared at the floor, an expression of defeat upon his face.

The rest of the Death Eaters began to twitch rather violently. Their Master had gone mad, surely!

"My Lord, I don't mean to question you, but, surely the French aren't important" Amycus Carrow bluffed, he _knew_ he shouldn't of done so well when he'd tortured those mudbloods.

"Ah, but Amycus, you forget that the French were helpful to me during my last upheaval" Voldemort said.

"Now, for my decision." he continued. The entire table held its breath, each one hoping their name wouldn't be said.

"Rookwood!" he screamed.

Those surrounding Rookwood heard his rather colourful choice of language, but were too relieved to offer him any real comfort.

"My Lord, surely… Yaxley would be better suited to this, don't you think?" Rookwood pleaded, but before Voldemort could answer, there was an interruption.

"Oh no you don't, Rookwood!" Yaxley screamed. "Make Bellatrix do it! We all know that she's the most skilled of us all." the others nodded in agreement.

Meanwhile, Bellatrix blanched, trying desperately to think of an excuse.

But my Lord," Bellatrix purred "I have other duties to attend to, you yourself assigned them. Perhaps you should make Rowle do it, it's been so long since he's had a mission."

"Shut up Lestrange, we all know that I attended to business in London only last week! Stop trying to worm your way out of it." he retorted.

"How dare you? I am twice as skilled as you little ignorant!" she screeched, sending a curse his way. It unfortunately missed, hitting Mulciber who was sitting beside him.

Suddenly, there was uproar. Mulciber fired a curse back at Bellatrix, who dodged the spell, sending it towards Alecto Carrow, which hit her, causing her to grow horns and a tail.

Spells were sent flying everywhere. The table they had been sitting around was now overturned, pieces of it used as protection. The chairs were sent flying through the air, hitting several of them. Peter Pettigrew was trapped against the wall by one of them.

Voldemort meanwhile was standing there having no idea what was going on. None of them had dared defy his orders before, let alone fight amongst themselves in this manner. He was appalled. It was only the French. What had gotten into them?

The fight continued, growing more and more vicious, the majority of people were now lying on the floor unconscious. Those who remained were panting heavily, each trying to outwit the other.

Voldemort –ever the voice of reason- eventually commanded them to stop. The only four standing were Bellatrix, Rosier, (shockingly) Peter Pettigrew and Severus Snape, but that was mainly because he had only recently returned from Hogwarts moments before and had come to see what all the commotion was about.

"My Lord, what on earth is going on here?" Severus asked.

"I don't know, Severus." Voldemort said, glaring at the destruction surrounding him. "I merely mentioned that I needed a mission in France completed and suddenly they turned against one another."

Severus nodded sagely.

"My Lord, if I may explain, it just so happens that both ironically and humorously the majority of your ranks suffer from Francophobia – A fear of the French and their entire culture." Severus said.

"Well then, I fail to see how this mission can be completed, and we all know I'm too important to waste my time on such petty things." Voldemort announced pompously.

"My Lord, _I _can complete the mission, I suffer from no such petty fear." Severus sneered.

"Very well Severus, very well. You shall depart to Paris by Portkey tomorrow." Voldemort said, thankful that he had found someone who was not mixed up in such madness.

"Of course my Lord" Severus bowed, and them promptly left the room.

When he was out of earshot Snape collapsed against the wall, hyperventilating. Dumbledore had said to do whatever was necessary to convince Voldemort he was on his side, but tackling the _French_? How the hell was he going to get out of this one?

He Disapparated to Fenrir Greyback's quarters. He had heard from Rodolphus, who had heard from Avery, who had heard from the now dead Barty Crouch Jr., who had supposedly heard from Fenrir himself that he wasn't a Francophobe.

He could only hope that it was true.

* * *

Snape was actually kind of awesome in this fic… No? Well, I thought so anyway.

This was my first parody, so hopefully you found it funny. Please review and tell me what you thought!


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